


Broken

by RedxRover



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22128595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedxRover/pseuds/RedxRover
Summary: Ludwig's failure to accept his brother's death has left him with a deep hatred.Dark fanfiction, abandoned multichapter.





	Broken

Ludwig's heart pounded in his chest as he ran through the mud, voices, high and shrill with anger shouted after him. They were getting louder, closer. Suddenly his boot slipped from under himself, the German leaning forward before landing on his chest. Gasping for breath, he clawed at the earth feebly, digging his nails into the cold dirt below. He struggled frantically as he began to sink, the mud engulfing him. His eyes widened in fear; he was being dragged down to hell itself. The blonde opened his mouth to scream, succeeding only in choking on mud and water, tasting strangely of iron. Blood.

When the wild struggle was over he opened his eyes, immediately flinching, and retreating back from the barrel of a shining pistol. Ludwig's mouth hung open in silent horror as he locked eyes with the one holding the gun. Gilbert. Tears were streaming down the albino's face as the gun slowly followed Ludwig's movements as he stood. Behind the Prussian, Russia grinned. Amethyst eyes flashed in malice as his meaty hand dug into the silver haired man's shoulder.

The massive Eastern nation leaned into Gilbert's ear, making ruby eyes go wide. Ludwig strained to hear what the Russian had whispered but failed. blue eyes flicked back to his brother. Cerulean locked with Ruby red. The Prussian only shook his head as a painful expression crossed his features. His lips parted slowly, mouthing 'I'm sorry'. Quickly Gilbert turned the gun on himself. The trigger was pulled. Ludwig's scream was drown out by the sound of the gunshot. Ivan's eyes narrowed in displeasure, kicking the Prussian's body into a nearby ditch at the blonde's feet.

Anger grew within Ludwig as he clenched his fists, digging his nails into the pale skin of his palms, decorating them with red blood. He lunged for the Russian. Below him, the ditch seemed to stretch and grow; he fell in. Looking back up as flames surrounded him; he realized he was no longer outside. He was now in a large brick building, surrounded by flames. Ash and bone littered the ground. He strained to see through the smoke burning his eyes and lungs. Tears stung his eyes as he searched for Gilbert. He was gone.

Tic… Tic… Tic… Minutes passed. The dark room was silent save for the man's shallow, ragged breathing and the wall clock's constant ticking. Cold sweat covered the quivering German in beads as he sat in his upright position, rigid and unmoving. It was only a dream. No. It was that dream. That… Nightmare. It had been years since he'd had that one. The clock ticked on as Ludwig recovered his breathing. Sweat dripped down his face as the time dragged on. Each second was longer than the last. The ticking echoed in his ears. Dull blue eyes stared at the dark wall without seeing.

The first rays of sunlight shone through the closed glass window. He still sat unmoving. Finally, the blonde stopped shaking enough to lay his head in his hands. His teeth grit together in anger and frustration. No Gilbert. He was gone. He'd been gone for years now. So why did he keep having that dream? Why was the loneliness lingering everywhere he went? The empty house that Gilbert and he had once lived together in was only fueling his misery.

How could a house—an inanimate object fuel misery? The same way a picture can. The same way that a bedside nightstand could. The same way a holiday alone could. A Christmas, a birthday, a New Year's, a Thanksgiving. Only days. Days that Ludwig had lost count of. There was no Gilbert. There was no light. No more war. Emptiness. Nothing. Meaningless. The German felt wilted and fragile without the man he'd spent all his life with. His brother. His lover. His mentor and his best friend. How could one god be so cruel to take that all away from him?

He scoffed. He couldn't blame god. He'd brought this on himself. It was his fault. He started the war without thinking of the price. His debt was paid though he wasn't the one that had paid it. Letting out a shaking breath, he rose and clenched his fists. Another day. Another sun. Another smile he had to fake. It was routine. Another day in the life of Ludwig Beilschmidt. Another day as a soldier.

**Author's Note:**

> Little R&R for a starving writer?  
> This was originally published in late 2013. Since then I've had little motivation to continue this work. Please drop a little review to give me some motivation!


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